


A Little Studying (Goes a Long Way)

by MostlyStars



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Boarding School, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-07 14:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyStars/pseuds/MostlyStars
Summary: Melchior, after a year of rarely talking to him, decides to become Moritz's study partner in the attempt to regain his friendship -- or maybe something more.





	1. Small, Fleeting Things

Moritz told himself to breathe as he walked along the edge of the school. He rounded a corner, leading him to be outside the west wing. He crossed the patch of grass there and sat down on the low stone wall that separated the school grounds from the forest.

                _What am I doing?_

                The words knocked against each other as they echoed in his mind. He put his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his hair.

                _Breathe._ Then _I don’t know how to breathe_.

                The air that he did manage to capture was damp and woody. But it felt clean, not tainted with humans and books and stale pen ink. It slipped its way into his lungs and he breathed deeper.

                He felt wetness on his palms as his silent tears pooled there. They ebbed and flowed as his mind blanked and then remembered why he was there.

                The morning hadn’t started off great. He’d woken up feeling dull and empty. Not ready to take on the day, or even for it to take him. He’d pulled himself out of bed, though, when he realized he was already late to class, and pulled on the first uniform he could find. Which may or may not have come from a crumpled pile on the floor.

                He’d rushed to his mandatory science class for the year, Biology, and fought against the panic rising in his stomach as he walked past the other students to his desk. He then promptly fell asleep, only to be woken later by his annoyed teacher.

                As Moritz remembered this, all he wanted was to condense himself into as small a space as he could. He brought his knees up and tucked them to the side on the damp stone ledge.

                He’d lifted his face from his hands, but without a place to go, his fingers ticked away on his trousers.

                _What are you doing? What are you doing?_ This time he muttered the words to himself.

                Then _Why can’t you feel better?_

                Maybe it was the falling asleep. Or the paper he forgot to write. Or the inescapable torture of having to butcher Latin aloud to his classmates.

                But those were all small, fleeting things. They happened and they were over. So why did they stick with him? Stay by his side and in his gut until he bubbled over because his roommate was in their room and Moritz could feel his presence like a ticking clock and he couldn’t focus and his thoughts spiraled until he felt as if he were going mad.

                So he’d run out to his safe space. His I’m-finally-alone space.

                “Moritz?”

                At least he had thought he was alone.

                Melchior Gabor stood along the edge of the school, looking ready to head somewhere. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

                Moritz quickly untucked his legs and pulled his hands into his sweater sleeves, swiping at his face to dry the tears. “I’m fine,” he said in way of response.

                Melchior looked around and, apparently seeing no one else, crossed the grass to where Moritz sat. “Why are you out here?” he asked in a voice that, while not concerned, seemed curious. Which, to Moritz, was all Melchior ever was.

They had become friends in their first year at the coed boarding school when they both limped their way through math. Melchior had quickly asserted himself as one of the best in their class, though, by excelling in every other subject. After that shared semester of Geometry, they hadn’t had another class together and thus rarely talked. Moritz definitely didn’t feel as though they were actually friends anymore, and the curiosity from Melchior felt strange and unusual.

                Moritz shrugged and looked down at his hands. “I’m fine,” he said again.

                “You don’t look it.” He sat next to him on the wall.

                Moritz didn’t say anything. The silence threaded itself between them. Then: “Where are you…off to?”

                “The language building. I’m supposed to make up a speaking seminar that I missed.”

                “Oh.” Moritz looked around, his mind still caught in a tangle of _I feel awful. Why do you feel awful? Why can’t you not feel awful?_

                Seeing Moritz’s glances, Melchior added, “Well, I’m not going there _now_.”

                Moritz shot a worried look at him. “But you’ll miss the assignment.”

                Melchior shrugged nonchalantly. “I was going to skip, anyway, if nobody else showed up.”

                Moritz frowned and twisted his fingers in his lap. _Please_ , he thought. _You can go_.

                But Melchior only sat there. He didn’t try to talk to him like Moritz thought he might. He just seemed comfortable to be there in a way Moritz felt he might never understand. He, on the other hand, was constantly looking around him. The trees, the imposing walls of the school, the ants that skipped along in the dirt under his feet. And all the while his mind buzzed with constant unease, with himself and with not being alone; his fingers pulled on the edge of his sweater as if scrambling for purchase.

                Eventually, when he felt as if he couldn’t stand the stillness of it all, he stood abruptly. “I have to go,” he said, barely making eye contact.

                Before he could walk away, though, he felt a hand take hold of his sweater sleeve. “Wait, no, stop,” Melchior said. As if he knew this sort of command would be answered.

                And it was. Moritz stood perfectly still, hesitant and uncertain. “ _Sit_ ,” Melchior said, tugging his sleeve.

                Moritz obeyed.

                “What are you…Did something happen?” Melchior spoke the words as if he was testing them, unsure of how to proceed. Moritz opened his mouth to speak, but Melchior quickly added, “And don’t just say you’re fine.”

                Moritz avoided eye contact. “Just a long day. And it’s quieter out here. And there’s no people.”

                Melchior had put on a determined face, as if he had made the decision to help. He either didn’t hear or ignored the last remark. “Okay. So, tell me what happened.”

                “I don’t really think that’s—“

                “ _Tell me_.”

                So Moritz stumbled through the words, trying to make himself and Melchior understand what led him here. Why he couldn’t let it go, had never been able to. It was choppy and somewhat pained, but Moritz felt strangely lighter after he got through it.

                “Moritz,” Melchior said once the tale was finished, “you sound like you need a study partner.”


	2. That Small Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moritz attempts to understand why Melchior would want to become study partners.

_A study partner_.

That was the last thing Moritz needed. He’d tried studying his whole life, but every word and number had always flown over his head.

“Um,” he said aloud, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

The light of brilliance in Melchior’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly, but returned just as quickly. “Why not?”

Moritz held the edges of his sleeves in his hands. “I don’t know… Just…”

“Precisely. A flawless plan.” Melchior stood up.

“No,” Moritz said. “I mean…What do you get out of it?”

“That’s not important,” Melchior said and started to walk away. After a few steps, he turned back to look at Moritz, as if expecting him to follow.

In Moritz’s head, he was already coming up with a grand list of possibilities for why Melchior would want to help him. Or help himself? This list included items such as: _helping someone in need_ and _bettering understanding through shared studying_. Then, in the darker parts of his mind: _eventual manipulation_ and _persuasion into performing evil tasks_. But this wasn’t a scifi movie.

And there was a small part of Moritz that hoped this was just an attempt to restart their friendship.

With that small hope, he got up from the stone wall. His slacks felt damp from having sat there and the wind had started up, rubbing against his cried-raw face.

“Where are we going?” he asked in a small voice, trailing behind Melchior.

“Well, we have to start somewhere, don’t we?”

* * *

 

They had made their way in silence to Melchior’s shared room. His roommate was nowhere to be seen, but seemingly every paper and item of clothing ever owned by either of them was. Shirts and sweaters and notebooks were scattered on the floor, the desks, and the beds without pause.

Moritz took this all in and wanted even more to escape the situation. That was all he had been able to think about on the way there. _If I run now, he probably won’t try to catch me_ or _If I say I have a class project, he might let me leave_. But he wouldn’t know where to start with the lie. And, he had to admit, he was interested to see where this would go.

“So, just make yourself at home,” Melchior said as he shoved a textbook off one of the desk chairs and sat in it.

Definitely interested. And scared.

Moritz hesitantly took a couple steps into the room. Where was the safest place to sit? Where would a normal, casual person sit? He opted for the other desk chair, considering it was on the opposite side of the room and wasn’t someone’s bed.

“Okay, so first: What classes are you taking?”

Moritz listed off his classes. It turned out they were still in the same math level, but only with different teachers. And Melchior had jumped ahead in Latin and English, so he could help with those. From there, their schedules split as they had taken different electives and mandated add-ons.

“Okay, so where do you want to start?” Melchior looked at Moritz expectantly.

Moritz shrugged, staring down at his feet.

He heard the scrape of pages and looked up to see that Melchior had picked up the textbook previously pushed onto the floor. Moritz saw brief flashes of numbers and assumed it was the book for their math class. He could do math. On a good day. Or, at least it didn’t involve words.

Melchior seemed to have finally found the page he was looking for when the door swung open. His roommate strode in, his gaze sliding right over Moritz, who jumped up from his seat. He didn’t know if this roommate was going to stay, but he didn’t want to risk the chance.

Even more, the disruption made Moritz more in tune to the growing unease in his stomach. Despite all his hope, there was something in his gut that told him tonight was not the night to start this. To wrap his head around classes and social interaction --- his two greatest weaknesses.

“Uh, I can’t do this tonight,” he said hurriedly. Melchior gave him a questioning look. “I have…homework. A lot.”

Melchior’s expression hinted that he was unsure if Moritz was telling the truth, but he didn’t argue the point. “Okay. Tomorrow?”

Moritz stood and said, “Sure.” Just to be able to leave. He hurried to the door and opened it, but paused briefly before stepping out. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Melchior performed an odd-yet-casual combination of a nod and a shrug, as if to say, _It’s nothing_.

Moritz hurried out of the room and to his own room, which lied in the other boy’s dorms, Marron Hall. He still hadn’t forgotten the day’s events, but everything that had happened didn’t seem to weigh on his mind quite as much. Except for this latest interruption.

_A study partner?_

_Why would Melchior Gabor need a study partner?_ The question came back to his mind.

And why had Melchior essentially skipped class to talk to him? Not that he was known for his perfect attendance. Last semester, Moritz had heard it from a couple other students that Melchior had skipped his history class for a week through. When he had been questioned by the headmaster, he was said to have bluntly stated, “I didn’t feel like it.”

_I didn’t feel like it_. Was that it? Moritz was Melchior’s excuse not to go to class?

Moritz reached his room and shook out his head, clearing his thoughts, as he opened the door. Then he sighed in relief – his roommate had finally left.

Moritz flopped down on the bed. He waited for the tears --- overwhelmed, scared --- to fall. But he was too tired and promptly dropped through the veil of sleep.


	3. The Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moritz and Melchior study together.

                “The rate of change isn’t constant, so…?”

                “It’s a function, but not linear.”

                Moritz shook his head. None of it made sense.

                It was the next day. They were in Melchior’s room, looking through the homework assignment they had both been given from a couple days ago. A math textbook was open on the desk and each had a sheet of paper they were writing answers on. They had pulled both chairs in front of the desk. Originally, they had sat as far apart as possible. At some point, though --- Moritz wasn’t sure how --- they had ended up close enough that their arms would sometimes bump.

                “Okay,” he said slowly. “So what is it?”

                Melchior squinted at the small graph on the page. “Polynomial, maybe? Or maybe it’s something with trig.”

                Moritz vaguely remembered those names as having curves, but that was it. He sat back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. “How much more?”

                “Just a few.” Melchior glanced over at Moritz. “You good?”

                Moritz nodded. He felt oddly good. Or at least okay. Content. Not like he needed to bolt. Sure, he didn’t understand most of the math, but Melchior was explaining everything anyway.

                 Melchior started reading the next problem. He wrote down an answer. Moritz received an explanation and wrote an answer of his own. The cycle continued until they had finished the assignment. The book was closed.

                Moritz knew he should leave. Now was the time to pack and say his goodbyes. But he hesitated. Something about the space, something in the air felt like staying. Like his skin fit for once and it was okay to keep it on for a while. Melchior still unnerved him and his intentions were ever a mystery, but he was patient. Not overly kind, but he stayed and continued helping.

                He said nothing about Moritz staying in place. Only “Are we meeting again tomorrow?”

                Moritz nodded.

                “Good. We’ll do Latin.”

                Another nod.

                Melchior stood and slid his paper into the textbook, adding it to the pile on his bed. The room was no clearer today than it had been yesterday, but a pathway had been added for the chairs.

                Moritz grabbed his own paper and notebook and stood. He hugged them to his chest, but didn’t move. How did someone leave? Yesterday’s running out was obviously not the right way to go about it. Did you just walk out? Were you supposed to say something?

                Eventually, he decided. “I’ll go. Now.”

                Melchior answered without turning away from stacking things on his bed: “Okay.”

                “Thank you.”

                At that, Melchior did turn. He gave a small smile --- Moritz couldn’t tell if it was skeptical or just considerate. “Sure.”

                Moritz made his way to the door, but it opened before he reached it. Melchior’s roommate stepped in and Moritz headed out, glad to be leaving.

                He made his way to his room in the dark. One half of his mind was extra aware of each sound and unfamiliar shape, frightened of the unknown. The other half was going over the past hour. He wasn’t sure what he had done that might have been wrong, but he felt as if he had messed up. He tried to reassure himself --- he had barely spoken, and then only about math. And this was Melchior, who didn’t care about anything.

                Or so it seemed?

                Once again frightened of the unknown.

                When Moritz had made it to his room, he set down his notebook and homework on his desk. It was organized meticulously --- not out of the necessity to quell any sort of chaos, but because Moritz cleaned constantly. When he was bored, when he was overwhelmed, scared, frustrated. The only thing on his side of the room that was left out of place was his clothes, which he usually reused or was too tired to put away at the end of the night.

                He sat on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes. _Okay_. He felt okay and to him, that felt like victory. Like a gift. It was equivalent to being overjoyed and he would take all he could get.

                Without thinking about it, his fingers started tapping out a little rhythm on the mattress. It was some happy song Moritz had heard when he was younger and it came back to him now and again. Throughout his life, music had felt like communication. He could let it wash over him and take his feelings with it, watch them recede like waves on a shore.

                Today had been a happy song. Light, flowing, and bittersweet at some points. Because despite every bright note, Moritz was certain it wouldn’t last. He didn’t know when or how the times would change, but that was the way it had always been. It scared him.

                Ever frightened of the unknown.


	4. Make-believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The studying continues, but Moritz fears it won't help.

                Moritz wasn’t going to start paying attention in class. Or he couldn’t.

                His mind still drifted, revolving mainly around _I don’t want to be here_.

                But even after yesterday’s studying he understood more. The terms being used sounded more familiar and he remembered some of the reasons _why_ the math worked. He even got most of the homework right (probably because Melchior told him the answers).

                After class, Moritz’s teacher pulled him aside as he was leaving. Moritz wrapped his sweater sleeves around his hands, worried about what was to come.

                “There is little more than a month and a half left in the year,” Mr. Matthews said.

                Moritz nodded.

                “You’ve been slowly falling behind throughout the year.” He looked down at the sheet in his hand. Moritz said nothing. It was true. Today had been the only exception. “I suggest that you meet with me after your classes. Preferably on Tuesdays or Wednesdays. Here is an overview of all the concepts we’ve covered so far. We’ll work through it together.”

                Moritz took a step back, shuffled his feet. “Um…that’s okay.”

                “I really want you to succeed, Moritz.” The words were kind, but still felt like a threat.

                “Yes, I--- Yeah. I found someone to help me,” he said, not knowing he was going to say it until it had passed his lips.

                Mr. Matthews’ brow furrowed, looking skeptical. “Okay…The offer still stands for now. But if you wait too long, you may run out of time.”

                Moritz couldn’t think to reply. He rushed out of the room, only knowing that even if Melchior called off their partnership, Moritz wouldn’t go in for help. The very thought of working alone with a teacher who knew he never paid attention and couldn’t do the work made his stomach churn.

* * *

 

                Moritz had never had an imaginary friend.

                Even when he was younger and dependent upon the make-believe, he hadn’t had one. Other kids, though, talked about theirs as if they were real. They would talk to them in the schoolyard at recess and eat lunch with them. He still didn’t know if the other kids saw them, heard them. So he had pretended.

                For close to three years, he had a pretend-imaginary friend named Harry. He was mostly an excuse: to not talk to others, to be able to talk to himself. But also something to say when others brought up the topic of friends, real or imaginary. He had been young enough that it was acceptable and Harry was dropped when other kids stopped talking about theirs.

                Sometimes he still missed Harry, or at least the idea of him. He eased things and was comfortingly stable. But he would never be real. No matter how hard he tried, he would always be making something up.

                That’s how it felt to study with Melchior. Like he was always making it up --- Melchior caring enough to skip class and sit with him, to study with him, to help and even interact with him. But it felt easy and calm. The rest of the world’s problems dulled and it was only them and a textbook. Moritz couldn’t get upset with himself for not understanding because he was with someone else. Melchior explained all the parts Moritz didn’t understand. But Moritz still feared that he was only pretending, while everyone else knew _their_ friends were real.

                Was this even friendship? To Melchior, probably not. But for Moritz, it was the closest thing he had.

                Today, they were outside on one of the many benches littering the school grounds. Melchior had texted Moritz to meet him there because his roommate was asleep. It was a calm day, underappreciated. The air was a cool 65 degrees, but the sun was shining brightly.

                They had been meeting almost every day for the past week, studying their various shared subjects. At least, they worked together on the math. The Latin and English sessions were more lecture and instruction, Melchior guiding Moritz through writing and conjugating.

                “I can’t even read this,” Melchior had complained one day when checking Moritz’s work.

                “I-I’m sorry, I can rewrite it---“

                Melchior batted away Moritz’s reaching hand. “You’re fine. I just want you to know your handwriting is atrocious.”

                And that’s how it was. Moritz gradually adjusted to the casual insults thrown out by Melchior --- not out of malice, but because that was how he operated. He lived for the little victories that were correct answers and competent paragraphs. It worked, and his teachers were starting to tell, too.

                His English teacher had even questioned him one day. “Your paper on _Gatsby_ …Was that _your_ writing?”

                Moritz had frozen in place. “Y-yes, of course, of _course_.” His mind instantly jumped to the conclusion that he was going to be reported for plagiary.

                But his teacher had only laughed and clapped him on the shoulder (too friendly, too close). “Good. Keep it up!”

                Today’s lesson was Latin.

                Moritz couldn’t speak it, couldn’t comprehend it when spoken, and stumbled through it on a page. He was already bad at enough at his first language. Why was there a language requirement anyway?

                Melchior, though, was in the advanced Latin class. Supposedly, there were speaking seminars and entire presentations and papers in that class. He didn’t talk about it much except when ranting about his teacher’s lack of understanding.

                Moritz was filling out a worksheet on English words that originated from Latin while Melchior glanced over every once in a while. He had brought some work of his own to do, too.

                Just now he reached over and grabbed Moritz’s pencil out of his hand.

                Moritz frowned. “Can I have that back please?” he asked in a small voice.

                Melchior only shook his head as he grabbed the worksheet, as well. Moritz bit his lip nervously as he crossed out several things and wrote others beside them. When he handed it back, it looked like any one of Moritz’s tests: all wrong answers and scribbles.

                In a moment of frustration, Moritz crumpled up the paper and threw it. It was only paper, so it landed deadly on the grass a few feet away. “This is pointless,” he said.

                “It’s fine, you just have to keep working---“

                “For _how long_?” Moritz asked, standing up. “I’ve been trying to get this through my head all year but obviously I’m too stupid to even complete the English portion of the assignments.”

                Melchior said nothing and remained seated on the bench.

                Moritz kept looking at him, expecting him to say something. His own breaths came quick and harsh. When Melchior still didn’t move, his face too patient (impassive) (uncaring), Moritz walked away.

                He let his legs carry him as quickly as possible without running to his place on the wall. Where it had all started, where it was now ending.

                Because even as Moritz sat down and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it, he was regretting his decision to leave. To get frustrated. To overreact like he always did. Because now Melchior would walk away, remembering the past week as nothing more than a waste of time with a broken boy. Because now Moritz would go back to failing with nothing more than a glimpse at understanding.

                The tears were already falling, his breath constantly hitching in his lungs.

                He dug his nails in his palms, feeling the sting, telling himself he deserved this. Because he couldn’t ever get it right.

                More tears slipping from his closed eyelids. More ragged breaths.

                When he opened his eyes again, it was starting to get dark. Even the sun didn’t want to stay around.

                He heard footsteps and looked around to see Melchior coming around the school, holding something in each of his hands. Moritz’s stomach clenched, but he sat frozen, hoping he would be unseen. Melchior’s steps led him closer to Moritz, though, who saw now that he was carrying two mugs.

                Moritz watched with wary eyes as he sat down next to him and handed him a mug. At Moritz’s questioning look, he said simply, “Hot chocolate.”

                Moritz frowned down at the warm mug he had already wrapped his hands around. “I don’t deserve hot chocolate,” he said in a ghost of a voice.

                Melchior tapped his arm with his elbow. “Nonsense.”

                After a moment, Moritz took a sip. It was a little too warm, but it felt good going down.

                They sat in silence as the sun fled and the moon took hold of the sky for the night.

                “Why are you doing this?” Moritz finally asked.

                Melchior took a final drink and set his mug down. “My mother always gave me hot chocolate when I was upset. I mean, I was a kid, but…” He shrugged.

                “No, not that. Why are you being nice to me?”

                Melchior frowned, suspicious and --- possibly? --- saddened. But then he just looked up at the sky. “People can be nice, Moritz. Not everything has to have a consolation prize.”

                Moritz stared down at his shoes. He didn’t believe Melchior, but he didn’t want to argue you with him.

                Melchior stood and grabbed the mugs. Moritz followed him to his dorm, wanting to escape but not sure how. There, Moritz waited outside while he ducked in. Melchior came back out mug-less but holding a notebook and a stack of papers.

                “Your homework,” he said, handing them over.

                Moritz could say nothing as he was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude and something that felt like belonging. He only nodded his head in a jerky manner and started down the hall. As Melchior was going into his room, though, Moritz turned back and said, “Thank you.”

                Melchior looked at him briefly. “You say that too much.”

                The door closed.


	5. Somewhere Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melchior is not good at sharing his feelings. Moritz is not good at interpreting others'.

                “You’re not even listening.”

                It was one of those days when it was hard to concentrate. His thoughts bounced between a million things. What happened in the past, what was going to happen in the future. But nothing that was happening now.

                Moritz shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

                “Don’t apologize. Just listen. I’ve got a lot of dumb rules to tell you.”

                Moritz nodded. And listened. He scribbled down a couple things in his notebook, but mostly tried to pay attention and cement the information in his mind.

                There were three weeks left in the school year. They studied most days, but sometimes other things got in the way. Too much homework for one of them or a school-wide event. Melchior would go home and visit his family on the occasional weekend.

                “At this rate,” Melchior had said one day, “you just might pass all three of these classes.”

                He had been joking, as if he didn’t think Moritz could ever actually fail. But he had. Multiple times. He knew he was only at the school out of pities and pleas --- from himself to not go home, from his father to keep him away. _I’m trying to do what’s best for you, Moritz_ , his father would say, but Moritz didn’t believe it.

Moritz wondered if it was really possible that he could pass all his classes.

                Moritz wondered what it would be like to have a family to go home to.

                They made it through the rest of the content that Moritz would need to know before his test tomorrow. Both of them gathered their things, but as Moritz was going to head back to his room, Melchior briefly grabbed his sleeve.

                “We should do something together,” he said simply. As if those words weren’t earthshaking.

                Moritz’s eyes widened in surprise. He nodded dumbly and started to head off again, not trusting himself to speak.

                Melchior’s hand pulled on his sleeve again. “I meant _now_. Today.”

                _Why are you doing this?_ Moritz wanted to ask, but was too scared to. Did Melchior feel as if they were actually friends? Did Moritz seem hopelessly pathetic and lonely?

                He only said “Okay.”

                Melchior began to walk across the grounds and Moritz followed at his side. Melchior was making an attempt to keep up a stream of conversation; Moritz tried his best to follow along.

                “What does your dad do?”

                “He works in an office.”

                “For what?”

                “Land development.” A pause. Then: “What about yours?”

                “He travels and does inspections on people’s houses, so he’s not home a lot. It’s mostly just my mom and I.”

                “What does she do?”

                “She runs a business at home selling kitchenware.”

                Moritz nodded, as if that made sense.

                “Yours?”

                Moritz hesitated. He had to swallow the lump that had quickly formed in his throat. “She, uh, passed away when I was little,” he said in a quiet voice.

                “Oh God, that sucks. I’m sorry.” It seemed as if he genuinely meant it.

                Moritz hadn’t been paying attention to where they were walking, but they stopped in front of a sign that read _Arboretum_. He had no idea what that meant.

                “What is this place?”

                Melchior unlatched the wooden gate. “It’s basically a giant garden. My Environmental Science class uses it all the time.” He walked into the area, following a winding dirt path. Moritz followed uncertainly.

                “Are we allowed to be here?”

                Melchior shrugged. “Maybe. I come here a lot, though, and no one’s stopped me yet.”

                That didn’t make Moritz feel better. He was fairly certain that Melchior could set half the school ablaze and the headmaster would only be irritated.

                They came to a bench off to one side of the path and sat down on it. They were surrounded by trees and ferns and flowering bushes. Moritz couldn’t see the school grounds anymore. Across the path, he read a small sign in front of a plant with many small pink oddly-shaped flowers: _Lamprocapnos spectabilis._ The words meant nothing to him.

                He sat with his hands folded in his lap.

                Melchior leaned back on the bench, ever at ease. “What are you going to do when you get out of here?”

                “I’ll probably just sit around…I don’t do much.”

                “Not this _summer_. After high school. After you escape this place.”

                Moritz hated thinking about the future and all the things he couldn’t predict. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

                “Well, I’m going to run as far away as possible. I’ll catch the first flight out of here and never look back.”

                “How can you be so sure?”

                “If I know nothing else, I know I won’t be staying here.” He said the words casually, but there was something forceful beneath them.

                Moritz couldn’t comprehend the notion of leaving. Between this school and his hometown, he had never known anything else. Where would he go? Who would he be?

                Melchior twisted on the bench until he faced him. “Don’t you want to be somewhere else?”

                Moritz hesitated. He wanted that every moment of every day, but he couldn’t say that. “Sometimes,” he said as casually as he could manage.

                “Think of all the things you’ve never gotten to do because you’re stuck in this school,” Melchior said, frustration and wonderment in his voice.

                Moritz tried to pick through his mind to come up with anything, but then Melchior leaned in and kissed him.

                His mind blanked, only containing _What’s going on? What’s going on?_

But he didn’t pull away. Because there was that peace, that feeling of being okay. Of being where he was meant to be. And a warmth, too.

                Melchior sat back after a moment and seemed to examine him. “Okay?”

                Without thinking, Moritz found himself nodding. Melchior leaned in once more, placing his hand around the back of Moritz’s neck and pulling him close.

                _Think of all the things you’ve never gotten to do because you’re stuck in this school._


	6. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melchior insists on Moritz coming home with him for the weekend.

                Moritz had to relearn how to comfortable around Melchior.

                He had managed to be his friend, but this was…something else.

                They still studied on the same schedule, but now things were different. Still the casual insults flung out and dodged, but their chairs would be pushed closer together. They still read through the math textbook together, but their shoulders would bump and remain in place.

                In the arboretum, Moritz had been filled with comfort and warmth. But as soon as they had walked out of the gate, panic started to set in. He turned to Melchior.

“What if they find out?” He didn’t know who _they_ were.

                “Nobody will.”

                “I never quite knew if I was--- I mean, I thought but---“

                “I think we’ve confirmed that.” The words were blunt but not unkind.

                Moritz had felt his face warm. His hands had knotted themselves together. He was sure the fear was written plainly on his face when Melchior had glanced around, then led him back into the arboretum. They didn’t make it as far as the bench when he stopped them.

                He faced Moritz and put his hands on his shoulders. “Nobody ever has to know as you long as that’s what you want.” Something in his voice made Moritz believe him.

                “Thank you,” he said.

                Melchior shook his head and laughed. “You still say that too much.”

                Moritz had given him a small smile, unable to muster more than that.

                Melchior had still had his hands on his shoulders, but then started to lower them. “And it doesn’t ever have to happen again.” Moritz could sense another unsaid, _As long as that’s what you want_ , and could see his expression starting to close off.

                “No,” he said quickly. “It--- It can.”

                Melchior had grinned again and, with a glance around, pulled Moritz into another kiss.

                At the moment, Moritz was pacing in his room. It was midday on the second-to-last Friday of the school year. Classes ended early on Fridays and he was making a poor attempt at using the given time. He was trying to remember a list of names for Biology. He would recite them out loud, but stop halfway through, unable to remember the rest.

                There was a knock at the door. His stomach did a turn. His roommate wasn’t there and nobody ever came to see him.

                He took a slow breath and hesitantly opened the door. Immediately, it was pushed in and Melchior strode into the room.

                Moritz closed the door and Melchior turned to him. “You need to pack a bag.”

                “What?”

                “A bag. With clothes. For the weekend.”

                Moritz shook his head in confusion. “Why?”

                “You’re going to go somewhere with me.”

                The same question: “Why?” Then: “Where?”

                “Because I want you to. And my house.”

                Moritz’s eyes widened. “No--- I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

                “That’s because you worry too much.” Moritz didn’t argue the point. Melchior had already opened the room’s closet and was rifling through the mess. “Don’t you have some kind of bag?”

                Moritz didn’t move from his place by the door. “I’m not going to go to your house,” he said with as much force as he could manage.

                Melchior stopped going through the closet and turned to face Moritz. “Why not?”

                “I don’t know. I just…” He sat down on his bed. The easy thing to do would be to say that he didn’t want to. But that would be a lie. Over time, Moritz had gradually learned things about Melchior and his family. His parents seemed kind and accepting and carefree. Moritz only described his own father as someone who he didn’t want to see and left it at that. Melchior’s home seemed like a fantastical place where anything was possible. And it held Melchior’s childhood.

                Moritz tapped his fingers nervously. “You don’t want me there,” he finally said.

                Melchior rolled his eyes, sitting next to him and bumping his shoulder. “Obviously I do, or I wouldn’t be taking you.”

                “No, I’m not good at---at being around people.”

                “And you think I don’t know that?”

                Moritz frowned, not because of the comment, but because he was actually considering this. Would it really be so strange to escape school for a weekend? _Yes_. But would it be bad? Unknown.

                Melchior’s hand took a hold of Moritz’s, who clung on tightly. “Here’s how this will go: We’ll take the less-than-decent train to my town and sit too close on the bench because we’re surrounded by strangers who don’t care about anything but themselves. You follow?”

                Moritz nodded, unsure of what to say to that.

                “Good. Then my mom will come pick us up at the station. She’ll say, ‘You’ve brought a friend!’ and we’ll pile in the car. We’ll make it to my house and she’ll hurry to accommodate your every need. Okay?”

                “You haven’t told her about us?”

                “You seemed as if you wanted it a secret---“

                Moritz flushed. “No, not that. That I’m visiting with you?”

                “Oh. No. She won’t care. So then we’ll stay a couple nights and take that terrible train to get back here.” There was a pause. “Are you in?”

                Moritz took a shuddering breath and nodded.

                There was that grin again.

* * *

 

                The train really was terrible.

                To start with, it was old and had accumulated many years of scents that did not mix well. The seats had cloth cushions that were fraying and showing foam underneath. There was a mix of people on it, but none of them were students from their school.

                And it was incredibly cold.

                Moritz had made sure to claim the window seat. He sat as close to the wall as possible so he only felt exposed on three sides. Melchior sat next to him on the bench. He had tried several times to start a conversation, but it was obvious Moritz was too nervous, so they sat in silence.

                About twenty minutes into the ride, Moritz started to shiver as he was staring out the window. When he had haphazardly packed earlier in the day, he hadn’t grabbed any jackets other than the sweatshirt he was wearing. It wasn’t enough.

                Melchior noticed. “Are you cold?” he asked, feeling one of Moritz’s hands. It was like ice.

                Moritz only mumbled, “I’m fine.”

                “No, you’re freezing.” Melchior tugged on his arm until Moritz scooted away from the window. They sat with their sides touching. Melchior took both of Moritz’s hands and sandwiched them between his own. He held them up and breathed warm air onto them.

                Moritz tried to tug them away, looking around self-consciously, but nobody was looking. They were all staring at their phones or sleeping.

                Melchior pressed a soft kiss to the side of Moritz’s hands. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

                Moritz shivered again, but not because of the cold.


	7. Stolen Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melchior attempts to comfort Moritz as he is scared to be somewhere so unfamiliar.

_What am I doing here?_

                The familiar mantra came back to him. He was standing in Melchior’s room, waiting for him to come back with a sheet and pillow so Moritz could sleep on the couch.

                Melchior had originally tried to get him to sleep in his room.

                “You can go on the floor. We have sleeping bags. Or lots of blankets.”

                Melchior’s mother, unknowing, hadn’t cared (although she seemed like the mother who wouldn’t have cared if she had known). But the idea scared Moritz. Even if they were on opposite ends of it, staying in the same room as Melchior would be too much. So he had asked for another place and was granted the couch.

                Melchior came back now, linens tucked under his arm. Seeing Moritz’s expression, he paused in his steps. “Are you okay?”

                Moritz nodded, perhaps too emphatically.

                Melchior tilted his head toward the door. “Come on.”

                They walked downstairs and pulled the sheet over the couch cushions together. Moritz realized his hands were shaking. There was no imminent threat, but the fear felt all too real.

                He said nothing.

                Their train had arrived in town at six that night. The ride had only been a couple hours long, but Moritz had managed to fall asleep, his hands still held between Melchior’s. He had woken to the sound of shuffling as passengers were getting off. There was a jolt of fear when he thought Melchior had left without him, but he was merely getting their bags from the racks overhead.

                Moritz had stayed quiet in the car, except for when Melchior or his mom brought him into their conversation.

                “So, what subjects are you studying together?” Mrs. Gabor had glanced back at him as she asked. Melchior looked at him too, expecting him to answer.

                “Math. And English and Latin.”

                Mrs. Gabor had nodded in response, then continued talking to her son. Already Moritz had been starting to regret his decision to come.

                They had had a quick, informal dinner, then Melchior and Moritz had escaped to Melchior’s room. They had sat and talked for a small while before Mrs. Gabor had called them down to discuss bedding arrangements. And here they were.

                Melchior tossed the pillow onto the couch and headed back to up to his room, Moritz trailing. He sat on the floor and said nothing as Melchior launched into a one-person conversation on the arbitrary nature of learning linguistics as such a late age.

                _What am I doing here?_

                After about ten minutes of this, Melchior stopped. His gaze narrowed on Moritz, who felt himself tense under his gaze. “You’re shaking,” Melchior said.

                Moritz shook his head hurriedly. “No. I’m fine.”

                Melchior said nothing as he got up from his perch on his desk chair. He sat next to Moritz, a few inches of space between them. He didn’t try to offer any reassuring gestures and Moritz was grateful. He wasn’t sure he could take that at the moment, especially from a boy who made him feel like the sand on the beach that was stolen away with the ebbing tide --- and that was before they’d even kissed.

                He closed his eyes and tried to focus on listening to his own breaths. No, those were too fast --- Melchior’s breaths. Steady in and out.

                After a couple minutes, he heard Melchior’s voice next to him. “What’s going on?” The words were gentle, urging him to share.

                He didn’t open his eyes. He shrugged.

                “Is it me?”

                Head shake.

                “My mom? My house?”

                “I don’t know. It’s just…a lot.”

                Steady in. And out.

                “Tell me.”

                Shaky in. And out. “It’s a lot of new. And I’m not good at new.” He opened his eyes and looked over at Melchior, who nodded. He looked away. “And it’s you. But in a good way.”

                “Me in a good way?”

                A one-syllable laugh. “Yeah.” He knew he should elaborate, but he didn’t know how. So he let the silence draw out.

                After several breaths, he leaned his head to the side so that it rested on Melchior’s shoulder. He didn’t know who he was trying to comfort --- Melchior, to show this was okay? That he was okay? Himself, to know he wasn’t alone? Either way, it was calming and he closed his eyes again. Moritz felt Melchior wrap one of his arms around him to pull him closer.

                There was that peace once more. No longer cold, no longer shaking.

                _Okay_.

* * *

 

                Moritz’s eyes popped open.

                He had fallen asleep, but now Melchior was gently shaking him awake.

                “Hey,” he whispered. “It’s getting late.”

                Moritz nodded. He began to sit upright, but Melchior held him in place for a moment, kissing the top of his head before releasing him. It made Moritz smile and want to stay there.

                Quietly, they ventured downstairs. Melchior’s mom had already gone to sleep. Moritz sat down on the couch and pulled a blanket around his shoulders.

                “Goodnight,” Melchior said softly and with a brief smile.

                “Goodnight.” Melchior turned to head back up the stairs, but Moritz reached out to take hold of his sleeve. “And I’m sorry…for me.”

                There wasn’t a beat missed before Melchior started laughing. “Oh good. I thought you were going to say thank you again.”

                Moritz wished that the morning would never come. Perhaps it was that they were by themselves, without the constant threat of others. Or maybe there was something easier, more open about the dark.

                “What will happen tomorrow?” he asked in a whisper. He had let go of Melchior’s sleeve.

                “I don’t know.” The words were not sad, but showed the hope of a thousand possibilities. “Studying, getting lost on the trail behind my house…”

                Moritz smiled and leaned his head against the back of the couch. Perhaps they could turn this weekend into something worthwhile.

                “Okay.”


	8. All of These Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little picnic and less than a little studying.

                Moritz had never been fond of adventures.

                He was an only child, which led him to do some exploration, but only within the confines of his backyard. There was never someone else to push him to go farther, to look somewhere new.

                Melchior, though, never seemed to be satisfied with the world given to him. If he was given a backyard, he wanted the woods behind it too. Given the school grounds, he uncovered every secret hideaway and passage in the building. This, he told Moritz, was how he came to find the clearing they were in.

                It had been a half hour’s walk from Melchior’s house, by way of a trail through the woods. If Moritz was by himself, he would have abandoned the trek when the dirt path turned into a mere cutting through the trees and ferns. But it eventually gave way to an open area, shrouded in golden sunlight.

                “Why is this here?” Moritz had asked in amazement when they first arrived.

                Melchior shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve tried not to question it too much.”

                They had laid out a blanket, setting down their books and food.

                Melchior’s mother had been happy to let them go out. Melchior had said they were going to study and have a little picnic. Moritz didn’t know if this was true, but they had at least grabbed their books.

                Thus far, they hadn’t opened a single one.

                Melchior was laying on his back, staring at the sky.

                Moritz was sitting cross-legged, occupying his hands by tearing apart leaves.

                “C’mere,” Melchior said.

                Moritz set down the leaf in his hands and scooted closer. They lay side by side.

                “What do you see in the clouds?”

                _They were going to make shapes out of clouds?_ Moritz couldn’t help but think. He had never imagined Melchior _to_ imagine.

                When he had first met Melchior, he had seemed arrogant and sophisticated and proud. At the time, Moritz hadn’t known how smart he was, so this seemed undeserved. Melchior was the type of person Moritz avoided.

                It had stayed that way until halfway through the semester when they were seated next to each other. When they would go over the homework in class, Moritz could see that Melchior did as bad as him.

Then Melchior began to strike up little conversations with him. This small kindness had surprised Moritz then and even now.

                Continually, Melchior had shown courtesy to him. And it didn’t escape Moritz’s notice that not everyone else received the same, but he couldn’t grant himself that honor. So he had pushed aside the thought and convinced himself that this was normal, unexceptional.

                And yet there they were, staring up at a perfectly blue sky. Their arms pressing against one another, their shoes bumping every so often. Sharing the shapes of the clouds.

                “There’s…a square?” he said, hesitantly.

                Melchior laughed, the sound as bright as the sun. “Very creative. Nice job.”

                Moritz felt heat rise into his cheeks. “It could be…a book?”

                “Okay. I see a small man --- no, crocodile --- playing guitar.”

                Moritz turned his head to look at him in confusion. “Where did you get that?”

                “I just made it up. That’s what you do.”

                Moritz frowned. “Are there rules to this game?”

                Another laugh. “You don’t need rules to make up shapes, Moritz.” Melchior lifted his arm around Moritz’s shoulders and pulled him closer to his side. Moritz froze for a moment before allowing himself to relax and settle his head in the space between Melchior’s shoulder and torso.

                “What are we doing?” he asked in a small voice.

                “We’re staring at the sky in an attempt to avoid social and educational responsibilities that---“

                “No, what are we _doing_?” He tilted his head to see Melchior’s face. “You and I. Together.”

                Melchior paused in thought, which he almost never did. After a moment, he answered. “We’re just enjoying this. All of these moments. And waiting for a day when we can tell the world.”

                Moritz couldn’t imagine that day ever coming. He had only begun to question who he was about a year ago. Although, at the time, it had felt more like noticing who he wasn’t. He wasn’t the sort of person to stare at the girls in class or try to talk to them.

                All of that made much more sense now.

                “Melchior,” he said. “I’m scared.”

                He expected him to reply with some sort of remark like _You’re always scared_. But he only said, “Of what?”

                “This. But not so much _this_ as _you_. I…I still feel like I barely know you.”

                “And yet you’re still here.”

                “Because I like being around you. And you’ve been nice to me. And this…this is nice.”

                Melchior’s thumb started rubbing lazy circles on his shoulder. “So what’s the problem?”

                He frowned. “I-I don’t know…”

                Melchior lifted himself up on one elbow, his arm sliding out from under Moritz. “I’ll tell you what: We’ll keep this up for as long as we want, before you get bored and leave me stranded for some cute senior at school.” The last words were teasing, but his tone shifted into something more sincere. “We’ll share. And show each other our favorite movies. And take each other to our favorite restaurants. Okay?” He didn’t wait for a reply before he leaned down and kissed Moritz.

                It was brief, but filled him with an uncommon warmth. “But I’m not sure I know how to do this,” he said to the ground.

                “And I’ll happily teach you. Although you seem to be doing fine so far.” A flash of a grin. “We’ll treat it like Latin.”

                Moritz groaned. “No, please. Not Latin.”

                Melchior let himself fall back onto the ground. “As I expected,” he said before kissing Moritz again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels like a good ending point to me, so I'm going to just leave this here.....  
> If you feel like it's not complete, let me know and I might write more!


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